by C. De Melo
Marco sauntered out of the chapel into the sunlight with his head held high, as if he’d committed no wrong.
Dazed, Sabina reached under her skirt and grimaced in disgust at the wetness between her legs. She needed to collect her wits and rid herself of his filth. Wincing with soreness, she stood and staggered out of the chapel toward the cloisters, then straight up to her cell.
Once inside, she hastily removed her clothing and kicked the pile of fabric into a corner. The gown would be donated to charity. Shivering with cold, she filled a basin with icy water, procured a linen cloth, and proceeded to wash her body. Tears blurred her vision as she scrubbed her skin vigorously, hoping to wipe away all traces of Marco.
***
Cecilia was quick to notice a change in her sister. Sabina normally chatted when they walked to the hospital or the orphanage, but she had grown sullen the last few days. “You haven’t been yourself as of late. You’re unusually quiet and your brow is furrowed. Is there something wrong?”
Sabina contemplated telling Cecilia what Marco had done, but what good would come of it? It would change nothing. “I miss Florence,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been good company.”
Cecilia eyed her steadily. “There’s nothing more?”
“No.”
After that day, Sabina made an effort to put the entire episode with Marco behind her. It would be easier to pretend that it never happened than to relive the humiliation of being raped. Gradually, she became stronger, and the deep sorrow she felt was eventually replaced by indignation.
Chapter 15
Florence, Tuscany
March 1480
Lorenzo de’ Medici had departed from Pisa to Naples on December 14, 1479, and did not return to Florence until March the following year. He had risked his life for the peace and well-being of Florence, and the risk had paid off. Not only had he managed to successfully negotiate with the King of Naples but also with the pope, thus avoiding war. In short, he made his position in Florence stronger than ever before, and—although he never held political office within the Republic—the European rulers officially recognized him as the Head of Florence.
“Must you leave so soon?” Cecilia lamented after Sabina announced her imminent departure to Florence.
“I’ve been in Lucca for several months, dear sister. I miss my home.”
“I know. I’m being selfish. I’ve enjoyed your company—we all have.” She smiled indulgently. “More than that, I’ve enjoyed witnessing the positive changes in you.”
“Was I such a bad person?”
“No, but you’re leaving this convent a better person than when you arrived,” Cecilia replied honestly before embracing her sister.
Sabina returned to Florence where she was affectionately greeted by Teresa, then bombarded with the latest gossip. For the next few days, she did little else but write and enjoy the comfort of her home. The time she spent in the convent had heightened her appreciation for warmth, soft cushions, and beautiful objects.
A few days later, she was at the Palazzo Medici. Lorenzo took her hands into his own when he saw her. “What a lovely sight for sore eyes,” he said cheerfully. “Welcome home, Sabina.”
“Thank you, and congratulations on your great success.”
“Have you heard? The Florentines have given me a new name—Il Magnifico.”
“The Magnificent,” she repeated. “It suits you perfectly.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you think so?”
“I most certainly do. It’s a relief to see you in such good spirits, too.”
Peering at her closely, he commented, “There’s something different about you. Tell me, how was your stay at the convent?”
“At first I hated it,” she admitted. “But then I grew accustomed to the routine and actually enjoyed helping others.”
“Did you miss Florence?”
“Every day.”
He took a step closer. “Did you miss me?”
“Every day.”
He smiled. “Come. Let’s partake of some refreshment.” They walked toward a servant bearing a tray of chalices and he took two of them. Handing one to Sabina, he asked, “Do you remember when you invited me to your home after Giuliano’s death? You said I could find peace and privacy there.”
“Of course I remember.”
“I shall call upon you soon.”
***
Sabina discovered that Signore Adolfo was away on business, so she invited Camelia to dine with her the following evening. The older woman was genuinely happy to see her friend and embraced her tightly.
“You simply disappeared without sending word to me,” Camelia said, baffled. “Your maid, Teresa, would not divulge any details as to your whereabouts. Her loyalty to you is impressive.”
“I’m sorry if I caused you any distress. I should have written to you. I was visiting my sister at the Convento di Santa Lucia.”
Camelia frowned. “All those months with the nuns? Were you doing some kind of penance?” When Sabina did not smile, her expression grew serious. “Oh, dear. I can sense there’s something wrong.”
“I’ll tell you everything but, first, let’s have some wine.”
Sabina led her guest upstairs. She had instructed the servants to set a small table in her sitting room, where it was private and warm.
“How charming,” Camelia commented as she took in the cozy surroundings. “Adolfo has been busy lately. With the Florentine economy expanding so rapidly, it won’t be long before the major countries of Europe begin trading with us on a grander scale.”
“Thanks to Lorenzo,” Sabina added.
Camelia nodded in agreement and raised her goblet. “I’ll drink to that.” She took a hearty sip. “Now, tell me why you disappeared.”
Sabina sighed. “I wanted to write to you many times, but I didn’t know how to broach the matter with you.”
Camelia reached out and patted Sabina’s hand. “I think of you as the daughter I never had. What drove you into a convent?”
Sabina took a long sip of wine before confessing her love affair with Massimo and her temporary exile from Florence. Camelia remained silent with a look of compassion on her face as she listened intently. When Sabina had finished, she reached across the table and poured a second glass of wine for the both of them.
“My poor girl,” Camelia observed.
“It’s my fault for being so naïve.”
“I sensed the attraction between the two of you—even a blind person could see it—but I didn’t think Massimo would act upon it, given your status in Florence and his wife’s vindictive nature.”
“You knew he was married?” Sabina demanded incredulously.
“Everyone knows, so I assumed you did, too.”
“I’m so ashamed.”
“Well, Massimo should have been honest with you.” She shook her head. “What a terrible ordeal.”
A terrible ordeal, yes, but it pales in comparison to being raped. Sabina forced the painful memory out of her head.
It never happened…it never happened…it never happened…
“Sabina?”
“Yes?”
“Has he?”
“Has who what?”
Camelia looked at her strangely. “Have you been listening?”
Sabina blushed. “Forgive me. Too much wine on an empty stomach.”
“We’ve been busy talking while our food is getting cold. Let’s eat something before we lose our wits.”
They ate a few mouthfuls of stew before Camelia inquired, “Has Massimo sent word to you since the day he abandoned you in Rome?”
Sabina put down her knife and shook her head. “According to Teresa, he never came here while I was in Lucca. No letter, no messenger—it’s as if he simply vanished into thin air. I sometimes wonder if I didn’t dream the whole thing.”
Camelia balled her hands into fists. “That scoundrel! The next time I see him, I’ll—”
“You must do no
thing. I beg you!” Sabina interjected. “I’ve told you this in the strictest of confidence.”
“I’ll honor your request, but he deserves a good tongue-lashing.’ She paused in thought. “Now that you’re back in Florence, I have a wonderful idea that will help to mend your broken heart.”
Nothing will mend this heart of mine. “Oh?”
“Why not write a book?”
Sabina smiled ruefully. “And get it published, too?”
“With your money and connections, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with my work being read by so many people.”
“Write under a false name—a man’s name.”
Sabina stared at her friend. “Do you think I could get away with it?”
“Why not? You could have a messenger deliver the manuscript to the appropriate sources and see what happens.”
“What should I write about?”
“That’s entirely up to you. I think it would be deliciously funny if your book became a success. Imagine the people asking one another ‘Who is the author?’ and only you and I knowing the truth!”
The appealing idea reeked of mischief and fun. Writing was a healthy distraction; it had saved her before and it would save her again.
Sabina chose to write about her own experiences as a foreigner in Florence, offering witty anecdotes on the Florentines and their customs. She wrote furiously throughout the spring season and, by early summer, she had completed a short manuscript. She invited Camelia to her home in order to celebrate her accomplishment.
“Would you like to read the manuscript before it reaches the hands of the public?” Sabina inquired, holding out a stack of parchment sheets.
Camelia shook her head. “As tempting as that may be, I prefer to be pleasantly surprised. I must say that I’m very impressed.”
Sabina grinned as a servant filled their chalices with wine. “All I need now is a man’s name. Help me select one.”
“What about Luciano?”
Sabina wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think it fits the tone of the book. What about Carlo?”
Camelia shook her head. “Giancarlo?”
“No. What about Salvatore?”
“Salvatore di Amato. That sounds romantic, don’t you think?”
“Do you know anyone by that name?”
Camelia thought for a moment. “No.”
Sabina ran to her desk, dipped her quill in ink, and wrote the name on the first page of the manuscript. “One of my servants will take this into town and act on behalf of ‘Salvatore.’ I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what happens after that.”
“What’s the book’s title?”
“A Foreign Perception.”
***
A Foreign Perception not only managed to get published and make its way into the hands of several Florentines, it was also praised for being humorous and witty. It soon became the topic of many conversations and a popular novel among the upper class. It even won the approval of Vespasiano da Bisticci, who was overheard talking about the book with his clients in his famed cartolaio.
When the Florentines began to speculate on the origin and whereabouts of Salvatore di Amato, Camelia and Sabina laughed heartily at their little charade.
Lorenzo held a dinner party on the first of September and invited Sabina to attend the event. During the meal, she overheard one of the nobles speaking about her book.
“A Foreign Perception is worth reading,” he declared to several people sitting nearby. “Salvatore di Amato should be commended.”
Another man said, “He’s a bit saucy, but definitely humorous. Has anyone here met the author?”
Sabina’s heart pounded as she tried to appear nonchalant. Lorenzo, who was listening to the conversation with interest, said nothing.
A young woman preened in her seat. “I ran into the author the other day in the market and, I must say, he’s quite handsome.”
Sabina almost choked on her food. Several guests, including Lorenzo, looked to her in alarm. She drank some wine and smiled to let the guests know that she was fine.
“I was attending mass at Santa Croce and he stood a few feet away from me,” said an elderly gentleman. “Perhaps our gracious host will invite Signore Salvatore to a meal so that we may get to know him.”
Lorenzo sat back in his chair. “It’s strange that I have not heard of this author before now.”
The old man said, “He is a great admirer of yours, Signore Lorenzo. In fact, he mentions you several times in the book.”
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Odd, considering I know nothing of him.” Looking at Sabina, who had not said a word, he asked, “Have you read Salvatore’s work?”
“Me?” she asked, reaching for her chalice. “Ah, no, not yet.”
“Then we should both read it soon.”
All eyes turned to her and she swallowed hard. “Yes, we should.”
A page walked in and whispered something into Lorenzo’s ear, who nodded and said, “Show them in and set two more places at the table.”
The page returned, followed by an older man and a young man, each lavishly dressed in a foreign style. Upon seeing the men, Lorenzo stood and welcomed them.
“Forgive the intrusion,” said the older man in broken Tuscan.
“Your presence honors my home,” Lorenzo said. He indicated the two seats that the servants had hastily set. “Please, sit and dine with me and my guests.”
When the newcomers turned around to take their seats, the young man caught Sabina’s incredulous gaze and a flicker of recognition mingled with uncertainty crossed his face.
Sabina waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. With a racing heart, she lowered her head and finished her meal in silence.
Afterward, Lorenzo approached Sabina with the two foreign men in tow. “My new business associates have requested an introduction,” he explained. “Gentlemen, I present to you Signora Sabina Rossi.”
The young man bent over Sabina’s hand and kissed it. “It’s an honor, Signora. I am Sir James Wynne of Rochester and I never had the chance to thank you for your kindness.”
Lorenzo looked from Sabina to James in confusion.
“You know each other,” the older man asked.
James ignored the question. “This is my father, Thaddeus Wynne, Earl of Rochester.”
Sabina curtsied and extended her hand. The earl bent over it.
James never took his eyes off Sabina’s face when he asked, “Father, do you remember when I was robbed and left for dead in Lucca?”
“How can I ever forget such a tragedy?”
“This is the young woman who nursed me back to health in that dreadful hospital.”
Thaddeus’s eyes widened with realization. “I see.”
“My servants came for me during the night while I was unconscious,” James explained. “I have never forgotten your eyes.”
I haven’t forgotten yours, either. Sabina smiled. “I’m happy to see you in good health, Sir James.”
Thaddeus said, “Thank you for saving my son, Signora Sabina. If I may ask, what were you doing at the hospital in the first place?”
“My sister is a nun in the Convent di Santa Lucia. They do charity work at the hospital and orphanage. During my visit with her, I accompanied the nuns and worked alongside them.”
“How commendable,” Thaddeus said.
James placed his hand on the left side of his torso. “I would show you the scar right now if it was not considered inappropriate.”
“I’ll take your word for it. You speak our language well.”
James blushed. “You are too kind.”
“I’m sure it’s better than my English.”
“Do you speak English?” Thaddeus asked.
“No,” she admitted, making the men laugh.
The musicians began to play a tune. Some of the guests gathered in the center of the main hall in order to dance.
“Perhaps Signora Sabina would like
to dance,” Thaddeus said to his son. “Go ahead and enjoy yourself for a bit while I speak with Signore Lorenzo.”
James looked at Sabina. “Would you care to dance?”
Sabina glanced at Lorenzo, who gave her an imperceptible nod. She accepted James’s hand and allowed him to lead her toward the other dancing guests. Lorenzo looked at Sabina thoughtfully before leading the earl to a more private location.
“What brings you so far from home?” Sabina asked while stepping in tune to the music.
“My father wishes to propose a trading deal with Signore Lorenzo,” he replied, spinning her around once. “There are many fine goods produced in this region such as silk, wine, art, and gold. It seems as though the Tuscans have a talent for just about everything.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose it’s true.”
“Well, we would like to bring some of that finery to England where it would be sold for a king’s ransom.”
“Aside from its economic potential, what do you think of Florence?”
“I enjoy the mild climate and find the art and literature sophisticated. The fashions are also impressive, and the women…” He flushed to the roots of his golden hair and did not finish the sentence.
“What about the women?” she prompted.
“They are exotic and colorful, like peacocks.”
“What are English women like?”
“Bland in comparison,” he said softly, his amber eyes twinkling.
She felt her cheeks burn and averted her gaze. After what Massimo had done to her heart, she wouldn’t let anyone else in so easily. Not even a golden Englishman with the face of a Botticelli angel.
The music ended and James bowed. “Thank you for the dance.”
“My pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“May I join you?”
She was about to protest politely, but something in his eyes made her stop. They walked through the cluster of guests and out into the courtyard.
“Shall we sit for a while?” he suggested. “It’s a lovely evening.”
They sat down on a stone bench and gazed at the stars in the violet twilight sky. The air was velvety, heavy with the scent of rain and late blossoms. She remembered when Massimo had kissed her under those same stars in that same courtyard.
